Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  “I will not stray from the hall,” she said.

  The maid nodded and returned to her seat.

  Though the fine material of the chemise and bliaut fashioned of Gabriel’s cloth was soft and easy against Juliana’s skin, the farther she moved from the fire’s warmth, the more she missed the homespun gowns whose thick, coarse material and voluminous folds retained heat far better.

  As she walked the hall, she paused from time to time to toe an unmentionable. Gabriel needed more dogs to keep the rushes clear of food tossed to the floor during meals.

  Blase raised his head from the journals when she neared the dais. Judging by his grim mouth, he was displeased.

  “What vexes you, Father Blase?”

  “A mystery,” he muttered.

  “The entries do not sum?”

  “They shall.” He dipped his quill.

  Though she guessed he would refuse her help, the thought of applying herself to something other than sewing made her ascend the dais. “If you would like, I will see if I can find the error.”

  He shook his head. “I do not require your assistance, Lady Mary.”

  She turned, and her gaze fell on the women servants at the far end of the table. Though they made a show of wiping crumbs and drippings from the table, their attempts were feeble.

  Juliana itched to show them how it was done. And why not? She was not their lady, but there was none more suited to the role.

  She traversed the dais. “Do you not apply yourself,” she said, “the filth will not come clean.”

  The women exchanged glances.

  “Buckets of hot water and more cloths are needed,” Juliana continued.

  Their eyes widened.

  “Be quick.” Juliana lifted her chin. “There is much work to be done.”

  The women peered past her.

  Would Blase support her? Or give them more reason to speak of her behind their hands?

  “Do as Lady Mary directs,” he said, causing her shoulders to ease.

  Though displeased, the women hastened away.

  “Bring brooms as well,” Juliana called, “and summon others from the kitchen.” It was there they gathered to conceal their idleness.

  When they were gone, she looked to Blase.

  “Gabriel will not like it,” he said.

  As expected. So why had Blase allowed it?

  He afforded her something of a smile, then returned to scratching figures on a scrap of parchment.

  Two hours later, working alongside a half dozen servants, Juliana saw a change. It was not much, but a sennight of hard work would make the hall as right as possible.

  As she swept rushes from the floor before the dais, she caught a glint of metal and bent to peer closer. A meat dagger.

  She glanced around. Assuring herself the servants were occupied with their tasks and Blase with his journals, she swept away the rushes. The dagger’s blade was dull, but it would be far duller when she was done with it. Confirming none looked her way, she raised her skirt and slid the dagger into the top of her hose.

  “Almighty!” Blase shouted.

  Fearing she was caught, Juliana straightened.

  Color flaying his cheeks, he dropped the quill and thrust back in his chair. “Accursed accounting!”

  She stepped forward. “Do you once more forget you are a priest, Father Blase?”

  His mouth crimped with what seemed regret. “Be assured, I do not. In playing the steward, I am even more aware of that blessed occupation. Pray, forgive me such ungodly words.”

  She was surprised by what sounded like a heartfelt declaration, having believed he was a priest only because his family had dedicated him to the Church. “Forgiven,” she said and ascended the dais. “May I?”

  He shoved the journal toward her. “You will find naught.”

  “Because you cannot yourself?”

  He shrugged. “You are welcome to try.”

  She leaned the broom against the table and lowered into the chair beside his, flipped through the pages to the last balancing of the books and began summing Mergot’s income. A half hour later, she was no nearer to solving the mystery. She set the journal aside and reached to the one listing expenditures.

  “It is not there,” Blase said.

  “Perhaps.” After a time, she returned to the first journal and found what she was looking for. She stood and pushed the journals in front of Blase, tapped the entry. “As I have done many a time, you have posted income as an expenditure.”

  He leaned forward. When he looked up, a sheepish smile stretched his mouth. “So I have.” His chuckle was reminiscent of Father Hermanus. “Gabriel would do well not to underestimate you, Lady Ju—” He cleared his throat. “Lady Mary.”

  His words reminded her of the dagger in her hose. Gabriel would do well not to underestimate her, but she prayed he would.

  “I thank you, my lady.”

  She peered at Blase past the hair escaping her braid. Though she did not wish to like this man who had set aside his priestly vows to aid his brother, she felt herself soften toward him. And more so when he reached up and swept the hair from her eyes.

  “You are a shameful mess, my lady.” His eyes sparkled as she had not seen them do since he had named himself Father Hermanus at Tremoral.

  Smoothing her hair back, she glanced at her soiled gown. “What think you your brother would say if he happened upon me now?”

  His eyebrows soared. “That I do not wish to ponder.”

  She tried to hold back her grin, but it came forth, and when Blase laughed, she laughed with him.

  The scene that greeted Gabriel was so unexpected it halted him just inside the hall.

  Juliana leaned over Blase, smiling as he laughed at something they shared.

  Knowing the emotion tightening his chest was jealousy, Gabriel was thankful when it reshaped itself into anger. What had Juliana to smile about? What spell had she cast over Blase? He looked to the servants, of which there seemed an abundance. Their attention was also on the high table.

  Forgetting he had returned to the donjon to change out of his drenched clothing, he strode forward. “Something amuses you, Brother? Lady Mary?”

  They startled, looked around.

  Only as Gabriel neared did he notice Juliana’s disheveled state. Her gown was soiled, hair barely confined, cheek smudged.

  He ascended the dais.

  “Lady Mary assisted me in finding an error in the books,” Blase said.

  What did Juliana know of such things? Though her training would have included some instruction in reading and writing, it was the idea of love upon which her mother had fixed. When had she learned accounting, and for what reason when Bernart surely did not require it of his wife?

  Juliana reached for the broom leaning against the table. “I shall return to cleaning.”

  Which accounted for her appearance. “You will not,” Gabriel growled.

  She stilled. “Why?”

  He slapped palms to the table. “Lest you forget, you are a lady.”

  “As well you know, I am changeable.”

  He leaned forward and spoke so low none but Blase and she could hear. “I speak only of that which noble birth affords you.”

  She pressed her lips tight as if to hold back words.

  Gabriel looked to Blase. “You allowed this?”

  “There seemed no harm in it.”

  “No harm? She is not a servant!”

  Blase frowned over Gabriel’s own state of dress. “Nor are you, my lord.”

  Though the rain had washed away much evidence of Gabriel’s work, enough remained to reveal he engaged in what was more fittingly performed by a laborer.

  “Was it you who set the servants to cleaning the hall?” he asked.

  “I did it,” Juliana answered for Blase.

  As if she were Lady of Mergot, she ordered the servants. As if a servant, she worked alongside them. “No more,” he said, then to Blase, “We will speak of this later.”
r />   His brother sighed.

  “Attend to your grooming, Lady Mary,” Gabriel said and turned away.

  Heavy with resentment, Juliana watched him stride across the hall.

  “And he tells it is only the babe he wants,” Blase murmured when Gabriel disappeared up the stairs.

  She looked around. “What say you?”

  He motioned for the servants to resume their duties, then smiled. “That was jealousy, my lady. Though he professes to feel only dislike for you, he feels more.”

  She shook her head. “You are mistaken.”

  “I am not. Though I beseeched him to repair the chapel, he refused. Now, for you, it is done.”

  It was true Gabriel had sent workers to clear the debris and begin mending the wall the day after he found her asleep before the altar, but he did not do it for her. She had but made him see the sense of setting it aright for when his excommunication was lifted—when he had a wife and children. But she would not argue the matter.

  Blase nodded. “Aye, if he sends you away after the babe is born, he will not do so easily.”

  That she must argue. “Never would I believe that of your blackhearted brother.”

  “Blackhearted.” He slowly nodded. “Given good cause, he can be. Even so, methinks there is one far more black of heart.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Bernart Kinthorpe.”

  Indeed, she silently conceded. It was as her husband had become since his return from the Holy Land, what he forced her to do making him more a blackheart than ever she had believed of Gabriel.

  “Methinks I like you better when you play the priest rather than the steward,” she quipped.

  His face turned more serious. “The priest I do not play, my lady. At times I am pulled thin between my love for God and longing for arms, but no matter the sins you cast upon me, and for which I have and shall continue to repent, I am and shall ever be a man of God.”

  His sincerity made her ache. “Forgive me, Blase—Father Blase. I did not mean to offend.”

  He considered her. Then a bit of the sparkle returned to his eyes and he said, “We may resume our truce?”

  Was that what they had enjoyed these past hours? He had allowed her to direct the servants, accepted her offer to assist in finding the accounting error, and defended her to Gabriel.

  “Aye, truce. Now I must rest ere the evening meal.” She picked up the broom.

  “Do not forget to tend to your grooming,” he reminded her.

  Almost smiling, she strode from behind the table.

  Lissant appeared at her side. “My lady—”

  Juliana extended the broom. “Pray, finish clearing the rushes before the dais, then come to me abovestairs.”

  The maid nodded.

  Only when Juliana began her ascent did she realize how hard she had labored. Her muscles were sore, especially those of her hips and lower back. Doubtless, the aches would make themselves more felt on the morrow.

  She stepped from the stairs into the corridor and regretted the silence that revealed the rain kept the workers from the chapel. The din of its repair providing cover for her efforts to gain entrance to the hidden passageway, she would have to work more quietly this day.

  As she neared her chamber, rustling alerted her to another’s presence, and she saw the solar’s door was ajar.

  Her bitter exchange with Gabriel returned to her. He wished her to behave as a titled lady, though only to the extent she was idle in the confines of the donjon. Little freedom, little respect.

  She changed course and opened his door wider.

  Clad in naught but damp braies and hose, Gabriel stood before the chest at the foot of a large bed. There was no spare flesh on him, his shoulders, arms, and back beautifully defined by the light and dark of converging muscles.

  Pulse quickening, she started to withdraw, but he said, “Rather brazen of you to come to my chamber uninvited, though it ought not surprise.” As he reached into the chest, a carved box on the bedside table caught her eye. Bernart also kept one there. Did this one contain coins like those with which her husband daily replenished his purse? Ones of lesser value that did not necessitate a lock?

  Gabriel removed a tunic from the chest and turned.

  Averting her gaze, she considered the solar, noting it was absent the lavish trappings of her own chamber—with one exception. Upon the mantel above the hearth stood a large, gilded cross. And she knew whence it came.

  Though she had chastised Gabriel for dishonoring God by leaving the chapel in ruins, certain the cross was somewhere beneath the debris, he had unearthed that blessed symbol of Christianity and brought it here for safekeeping.

  “Because I am excommunicated,” he said, “does not mean I have no regard for the Lord.”

  He had followed her gaze. She looked around and was grateful he had donned his tunic. “I am pleased you did not leave it amid the rubble.”

  “I did not do it for you. It has been here since I was awarded Mergot.”

  “I do not presume you did it for me,” she said, though part of her wished he had.

  “What is it you want, Juliana?”

  “To speak with you.”

  “That is all?”

  She struggled not to take offense. After all, it was no less improper for her to enter his chamber at Mergot than for her to have done so at Tremoral.

  “No other reason.”

  “Then speak.”

  “I am not accustomed to being idle. If you will not allow me to direct your servants in making your hall more habitable, how would you have me spend my time?”

  He strode forward and halted before her. “As ladies do—with sewing and the like.”

  “You think that is all that occupies a lady?”

  “As I recall, it is what your mother trained you for. And the art of love.”

  At which she had failed. How she wished Gabriel would not stand so near. Though he had shown enough courtesy to cover his bare torso, being so close made the simple act of breathing difficult.

  “I kept Bernart’s household and saw to his accounting.”

  “Be it so, you will not act the Lady of Mergot.”

  She gasped. “Are you so blind you do not see the state of your hall? It is hardly fit for humans.”

  “The least of my concerns. Once the walls are strong, the hall will be seen to.”

  “But it can be seen to now. You have servants. All you require is someone to direct them.”

  “In time, Juliana.”

  When he took a wife, made children with her…

  She swallowed. “Surely you know spoilage breeds sickness and disease. How many will fall ill between now and when you determine it is time?”

  He considered her. “If it is so great a concern, Blase can direct the servants.”

  “It is woman’s work, not that of a priest or a man whose time is better spent out-of-doors swinging a sword.” She stepped nearer. “Allow me this, Gabriel.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What gain for you?”

  “It will make the days pass more quickly.” What she said was true—naught to do with the meat dagger she hoped would see her away from Mergot.

  “Then you are eager to birth the child and surrender it.”

  It was like a knife to the heart. She looked down. “Of course not, but in that I have no say, have I?”

  The silence between them became so heavy her knees felt as if they would give beneath the weight. But as they began to bend, he lifted her chin and carried her moist eyes to his. “Will it truly pain you to give up this child, Juliana?”

  There was hope for her in his question, as if he might be moved to release her, allowing her to return to Alaiz—

  “I think not.” His voice turned harsh. “These tears are for your failure to secure your place at Tremoral.”

  Hope trampled, she snatched her chin free and stepped back. “What does this babe matter to you? It is no different from the dozen or more fatherless children you hav
e surely scattered between England and here.”

  His nostrils dilated. “You know better than that.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but no matter her own anger, he spoke true. Only because of how much he had imbibed that first night had he got her with child.

  “When the babe is born, I will be a father to it,” he said.

  “Then your revenge will be complete? You will be satisfied?”

  “Never did I wish to sire an illegitimate child. Hence, as much as possible I will be satisfied.”

  She stared into his hard-set face, longed to reach past it to the man in the garden she had wanted to kiss—not only at Tremoral, but all those years ago when she found Bernart with a servant. “I will be pained,” she said. “Pain of such depth you cannot possibly grasp how much it will bleed me.”

  “Can I not, Juliana? Lest you forget, pain is something with which I have a firm acquaintance.”

  He spoke of his mother’s betrayal and the loss of Wyverly. “Aye, but that is your pain. Let me tell you of mine. It is living in fear of you these past months. Waiting for you to return and take my child. Knowing you would hurt me. That is my pain, its breath upon my neck every moment of every day.”

  A muscle in his jaw convulsed. “You brought it upon yourself.”

  “Did I? Like many a man, you think the worst of women rather than look beyond their perceived sins. Did you not once consider I had no choice in what I did?” She knew she should not have spoken that even before the words tumbled out. But it did not matter. Gabriel would hear only what he wished to hear.

  “What have you not told me, Juliana?”

  She blinked. Might some part of him long to believe her innocent of wrongdoing? Might he have feelings for her other than distaste as his brother believed?

  Though the temptation to defend herself was great, she overcame it. As long as Bernart had Alaiz, her husband’s secret was safe.

  “I have said enough,” she murmured.

  His hands fell to her shoulders. “If you have something to say, speak.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why?”